Airport / Аэропорт. Артур Хейли
Читать онлайн.| Название | Airport / Аэропорт |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Артур Хейли |
| Жанр | |
| Серия | Abridged & Adapted |
| Издательство | |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 978-5-9909598-6-6 |
Mel acknowledged[42]. He could see the Air Canada flight, at this moment going out from a terminal gate. The jet cleared the terminal and was increasing taxi speed[43]. Mel accelerated to keep up.
It took a quarter of an hour to reach the intersection where runway three zero was blocked by the Aéreo-Mexican 707. Before then, Mel had separated from the stream of taxiing aircraft which were destined for takeoff on the two other active runways.
He stopped the car and got out. In the dark and loneliness out here, the storm seemed even more wintry and violent than nearer the terminal. The wind howled across the deserted runway.
A shadowy figure hailed him. “Is that Mr. Patroni?”
“No, it isn’t.” Mel found that he, too, had to shout to make himself heard above the wind. “But Joe Patroni’s on the way.”
The other man came closer. His face was blue with cold. “When he gets here, we’ll be glad to see him. Though I’m damned if I know what Patroni’ll do. We’ve tried about everything to get this bastard out.” He gestured to the airplane behind them.
Mel identified himself, then asked, “Who are you?”
“Ingram, sir. Aéreo-Mexican maintenance foreman. Right now, I wish I had some other job.”
Mel pulled the collar of his topcoat tightly around him. “We need this runway urgently – tonight.”
For the briefest instant he had a premonition. A hint, no more; an intuition; the smell of greater trouble coming. He should ignore it, of course; impulse, premonitions, had no place in pragmatic management.
He glanced at the 707 again. It was snow-covered now. Commonsense told him: apart from the runway blockage and the inconvenience of takeofsf over Meadowood, the situation was harmless.
“Let’s go to my car,” he told the Aéreo-Mexican foreman. “We’ll get on the radio and find out what’s happening.”
On the way, he reminded himself that Cindy would shortly be waiting impatiently downtown.
Mel had left the car heater turned on, and inside the car it was comfortingly warm. Ingram loosened his coat and bent forward to hold his hands in the stream of warm air.
Mel switched the radio to the frequency of airport maintenance.
“Mobile one to Snow Desk. Danny, I’m at the blocked intersection of three zero. Call TWA maintenance and check on Joe Patroni. Where is he? When coming? Over[44].”
Danny Farrow’s voice crisped back through the speaker on the dash[45]. “Snow Desk to mobile one. Wilco.[46] And, Mel, your wife called.”
Mel pressed the mike button. “Did she leave a number?”
“Afifrmative.”[47]
“Mobile one to Snow Desk. Please call her, Danny. Tell her I’m sorry, I’ll be a little late. But check on Patroni first.”
“Understood. Stand by.[48]” The radio went silent.
Mel reached inside his topcoat for a pack of Marlboros. He offered them to Ingram.
“Thanks.”
They lit up, watching the windshield wipers move back and forth.
Ingram nodded toward the Aéreo-Mexican jet. “Know where that flight was going?”
Mel shook his head.
“Acapulco.” The foreman chuckled. “Can you imagine – getting aboard, then having to get off in this. You should have heard the passengers cursing, especially the women. I learned some new words tonight.”
The radio came alive again.
“Snow Desk to mobile one,” Danny Farrow said. “I talked with TWA about Joe Patroni. They’ve heard from him, but he’s held up in traficf. He’ll be another hour, at least. He sent a message. You read me[49] so far?”
“We read,” Mel said. “Let’s have the message.”
“Patroni warns not to get the airplane deeper in the mud than it is already. Says it can happen easily. So, unless the Aéreo-Mexican crowd are real sure of what they’re doing, they should hold off any more tries until Joe gets there.”
Mel glanced at Ingram. “How does the Aéreo-Mexican crowd feel about that?”
The foreman nodded. “Patroni can have all the tries he wants. We’ll wait.”
Danny Farrow said, “Did you get that? Is it clear?”
Mel pressed the mike button. “It’s clear.”
“Okay. And, Mel, your wife phoned again. I gave her your message.” Mel sensed Danny hesitating, aware that others whose radios were on the airport maintenance frequency were listening, too.
Mel said, “She wasn’t happy?”
“I guess not.” There was a second’s silence. “You’d better get to a phone when you can.”
Ingram was pulling on heavy mitts and refastening his coat. “Thanks for the warm-up.” He went out, into the wind and snow, slamming the door quickly. A few moments later,
Mel could see him walking through deep drifts toward the assembled vehicles on the taxiway.
On radio, the Snow Desk was speaking to Maintenance Snow Center. Mel waited until the exchange finished, then held the transmit button down. “This is mobile one, Danny. I’m going to the Conga Line.”
He eased the car forward, picking his way carefully in the blowing snow and darkness.
The Conga Line, both spearhead and prime mover of the airport snow-fighting system, was – at the moment – on runway one seven, left. In a few minutes, Mel thought grimly, he would find out for himself if there was truth, or merely malice, in the critical report of Captain Demerest’s Airlines Snow Committee.
06
The subject of Mel’s thoughts – Captain Vernon Demerest of Trans America – was at the moment about three miles from the airport. He was driving his Mercedes 230 SL Roadster to a group of three-story apartment blocks, close to the airport, known as Stewardess Row. It was here that many of the stewardesses based at Lincoln International – from all airlines – maintained apartments. Each apartment was usually shared by two or three girls. The apartments were known as stewardess nests.
The nests were often the scene of lively parties, and sometimes headquarters for the amorous affairs which occurred, with predictable regularity, between stewardesses and male flying crews.
Both the stewardesses and male crew members whom they met – captains, and first and second oficf ers – were, without exception, high-caliber people. All had reached their jobs through a tough process of elimination in which those less talented were totally eclipsed. The comparative few who remained were the brightest and best. The result was a broth of sharp, enlightened personalities with a zest for life and the perceptiveness to appreciate one another.
Vernon Demerest, in his time, had appreciated many stewardesses, as they had appreciated him. He had, in fact,
подтвердил приём
скорость руления
Перехожу на приём
Подтверждаю
Будьте на приёме
слышите меня